


Following the Thread

by neraiutsuze



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anxiety, Friendship, Gen, No beta we kayak like Tim, Secrets, tim is a Lot but he is also a Good Boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25446889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neraiutsuze/pseuds/neraiutsuze
Summary: First week at his new job in the Archives and Martin's already having a crisis. Luckily Tim's there to...well, make it worse, really, but with the best of intentions.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34
Collections: The Magnus Archives Flash Fanwork Challenge





	Following the Thread

**Author's Note:**

> This is a flashfic written for the Magnus Archives Flash Fanwork Challenge prompt "train". Check it out at https://magnus-mailday.dreamwidth.org! 
> 
> (General Audience rating, but there's one (1) swear in here. Shhh. It's fine.)

Martin stared down at the statement on his desk. 

The statement stared back, mockingly. At least, it felt like it was. Probably would be, if it had eyes. _What exactly do you think you’re going to do with me?_ it’d sneer, disdainfully, wearing the bright yellow post-it note with Jon’s clipped request for follow-up like a hat, and he’d have no answer for it. This transfer was going to be over before it had even really begun, obviously. He didn’t—

The _thunk_ of a mug on the desk was enough to jerk Martin out of his panicked haze with an embarrassing yelp, as he looked up into Tim’s grinning face.

“Who makes tea for the tea maker, yeah?”

“O-oh, I— oh. Right, um. Thanks, Tim.” He reached for the mug, gratefully, trying to convince his heart rate to get back to something approaching normal. 

“What, did you think I was the boss, here to chastise you for looking at a statement like it’s trying to eat your brain? They’re spooky, but not _that_ spooky,” Tim tapped the statement with his finger as if to prove his point, and Martin could barely summon a weak grin in return. “Seriously, how weird is it? Did it really freak you out that much?”

“Not…no, it’s not that creepy, actually, it’s just - kind of, um, confusing,” Martin blurted, immediately kicking himself even as his mouth continued to run away with him. “I don’t think the lady really knew what she wanted to say, honestly? I think she just started ranting about her neighbour’s dog at one point here. And she didn’t really…I mean, there’s basically nothing to go off, s-so I’m— I mean, it’s just a bit…y’know. Where to begin.”

 _Great. Yes. That sounded exactly like_ someone who knew what they were doing _, Martin._

Tim raised an eyebrow as he puttered helplessly to a halt, and laughed. “God, that sounds like a nightmare. Glad you’ve got it, then!”

“Oh, _thanks_.”

“No, actually, I mean it. You’re the one with the most experience in that kind of thing. Bet you had to deal with tons of those kinds of stories for your thesis, right?”

Martin’s blood suddenly ran cold, the tension that had been ebbing just a little with Tim's easy presence immediately ratcheting back up his spine. _Does he know? Was that on purpose? Oh God, how did he—_ but no, Tim had what seemed to be a totally genuine, earnest look on his face, his grin softened into more of what would have probably been a warm, reassuring smile if he hadn’t just metaphorically slapped Martin in the face instead. And he clearly wasn’t quick enough at covering his reaction, either, because that smile faded a little more into a look of concern.

“What, was it that bad? I figured parapsychology was a bit more on-the-level than making you explore a haunted house or something for your final project, but—“

“No! No, uh, it was definitely— definitely a normal thesis, no haunted houses, just a thesis, like any other degree,” _For the love of god, stop talking._ “You just, you just surprised me is all. I didn’t expect anyone to remember that.”

“Mmhmm.” Tim’s eyebrow was still raised high on his forehead, and he was giving Martin the kind of searching look that was really, really not helping the panic blooming in his chest. "I mean, it sort of makes you the most qualified to be here, doesn't it? In a way. That kind of sticks in a man's mind."

"Oh god, don't say that," Martin croaked, wanting to melt into the floor and disappear. The dreadful statement on his desk still sat there accusingly, a monument to the sheer wrongness of Tim's words. "That's - I'm really not, and that's - that's so much to put on me when I can't even do _this_ statement, okay, don't--"

"Is that where this lack of confidence is coming from, Martin?" Tim leaned forward across the desk, still giving him that searching look but now with a terrible, worrying quirk back to his mouth, and Martin clutched the mug of tea in front of him with white-knuckled hands like a talisman. "Did you do a bad job on the spooky thesis?"

"Tim, _please_." 

"Really, it's okay if you did. Don't tell Jon, but I barely scraped by with mine. Pretty sure the only reason I got final grade I did was lucky scores on the exams up ‘til that point. " 

Martin let out a strangled half-laugh, about an octave too high. _Don't tell Jon?_ If Jon would be judgemental about a minimal pass on a _First_ , he'd fire Martin on the spot for a 0-0. 

"Seriously though, research isn't that bad once you get back into the swing of it. Especially when you’ve got, y’know, somewhat relevant experience. Shockingly, anthropology doesn’t exactly map to paranormal research smoothly? And Sasha’s degree’s in _Journalism and Media Science_ , so y’know--” 

“They’re both _degrees_ , Martin muttered quietly into his palm as he dragged it down his face. He could have hated Tim in that moment, the unknowing casual cruelty of that tone jokingly writing off the value of _any_ degree and acting like Martin should be in on the joke in front of Martin’s own incredibly shaky house of cards, if Tim wasn’t so clearly, sincerely, _awfully_ trying to help. 

Unfortunately, he had forgotten that Tim had ears like a bat when it came to gossip.

“Right. Okay. What’s this really about, Martin?” he said, the humour dropping from his voice completely. “Did Jon say something?”

“What? No!”

“I’m just saying, if he told you it’s not a real degree, he’s projecting his own scepticism crap on your hard work, and that’s not fair--”

“It wasn’t Jon, Tim, it wasn’t anybody, nobody said anything, please just drop it--”

“Was it the grade? Because if you got a Third and someone’s been taking the piss that’s not fair either, y'know--”

“It wasn’t that either, Tim _please_ it’s nothing, I swear-”

“It’s clearly not nothing, it’s got you this worked up,” Tim’s frown was deepening with every drop of cold sweat breaking out on Martin’s spine, it felt like, and he looked like he was settling in for a stubborn fight about this. “What’s so clandestine about it, Martin?

It was like a dam bursting.

"I don't have a First," Martin choked, an edge of hysteria building as it all came rushing out. "I don't have a 2-1, or a 2-2. I don't have a Third. I don't have a _degree_ , Tim. I don't even have _A-levels_." He didn't dare look at Tim's face, focused on the mug in his clasped hands, on his knees, on the damn _damn_ statement on his desk. "I dropped out of Sixth Form. I haven't been in a school since I was 17. I worked retail for _years_ , two jobs at a time sometimes, because nobody else would take me, but it wasn't enough money so I just-- my whole CV, it's, it's completely made up, I just started pulling contact names off spam emails after about halfway through, and I don't know _how_ it got past Elias, he _has_ to know, but I'm here anyway and I have _no idea what I'm doing_ , Tim!"

The seconds of silence seemed to stretch out for hours.

“Ho-ly shit, Martin.”

God, he still couldn’t bear to look up and see Tim’s expression. Judgemental, no doubt. Angry? Stuck working with an underqualified liar, wouldn’t blame him. You come in to comfort your useless coworker and find out he’s even more useless than you thought. If only this chair would just melt under him, or let him wake up and this all be a horrible nightmare. He placed the mug onto the desk with leaden arms, covering the shake in his hands with the movement.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” He sounded pathetic even to himself. “ _Please_. I can’t lose this job.” 

“Are you kidding?” Oh. He flinched a little more into himself, and then jumped a mile when Tim’s heavy, warm hand clapped him on the shoulder. “You blagged your way into a job in England’s only paranormal research facility with a _fake parapsychology degree_ and got away with it for _years_ , that’s _incredible_!”

The rug hadn’t just been pulled out from under him, the rug had flown him up into the air, tipped him off from ten feet up, and then landed on top of his head. The sheer incongruity of Tim’s reaction finally got him to look up, and indeed he looked like Martin had just told him he, Martin, had been secretly a famous rock star this whole time. “Wh-what?”

“You successfully bamboozled the most nosy boss I’ve ever worked under and maintained it all this time to the point where you got a _promotion_. Martin. I am _impressed_. You’ve had hidden depths of Jedi mind tricks all along that I never suspected.”

“God, when you put it like that it makes me sound _worse_ ,” Martin winced. “I wasn’t trying to bamboozle anybody, I just - I just needed a job, alright? And I thought it was something I could probably learn to do, and it - it kind of was, upstairs! Or at least nobody minded if I did the easy parts as long as I also did the tea run and the odd jobs that nobody else wanted to take care of.” He sighed, looking back down at the desk and the mocking statement. “Should have known it was only a matter of time, I suppose. I mean, y’know,” - with a gesture at the sheet of paper - “given the whole ‘falling at the first hurdle’ thing.”

“Alright. First of all, let’s get a couple of things straight,” said Tim, slotting in beside him to lean against the edge of the desk, arms folded. “One: I am many things, most of them positive, but of my few flaws which I am assured I do have, I am not a snitch. Nobody will ever hear a word about this from me. I promise.”

“....really?” He’d been sure, so absolutely sure, that anyone finding out about this was the death knell for this job and possibly any others ever again. Instead, Tim was here with his best warm, conspiratorial grin and reassuring closeness, and Martin had no idea what to make of it.

“Scout’s honour. Not a peep.”

“You were a scout?”

“Every outdoorsy badge going, then stabbed myself with a needle trying for the sewing badge and had to get a tetanus shot, but that’s not the point.” Martin couldn’t help but smile a little at that, wan and watery as it was, and Tim continued with renewed energy, counting dramatically on his fingers. “ _Two_ , I have a plan to help you continue this excellent middle finger to classist restrictions on job applications.”

“My what?”

“Martin,” he continued as though Martin hadn’t said anything, with a sudden look of seriousness, “let me be your mentor. Let me be your Obi-Wan. I will teach you the ways of the researching force, young padawan.”

At Martin’s dumbstruck blinking, the smile returned. “No, seriously. Let’s team up. We’ll work on this statement together, I’ll show you the ropes, then you come help me with mine. You learn how to do the research thing, I get some company, a second pair of eyes, and to feel like a big important teacher guy, and Jon gets his research. Call it on-the-job training. Everyone wins!”

“Tim, that’s--" Swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat, Martin shook his head. "You don't have to, to, I can’t--”

“You can, and you will, _I_ can and will, and to celebrate let me pull up a chair and we can start right now, yeah?”

He should continue to protest. He should look Tim right in his big, kind eyes and his I-got-this grin and take responsibility for his own stupid lies and mistakes and uselessness.

“...........Yeah. Yeah, okay. I-- _thank you_ , Tim.”

“This does mean that you have to take up my mantle when I inevitably am struck down in battle to rise again more powerful than the bad guy can ever imagine.”

Martin snorted despite himself, which turned into a laugh, which kept going, the relief surging through him in waves. “I’m not much for avenging, but I’ll do my best.”

“Ah, well,” said Tim, sighing dramatically as he pulled a chair over and flopped down with Martin at his desk. He pulled the statement towards him, and handed Martin his pen. “That can be part of the training.”


End file.
